Three Months Earlier…

Christine smiled exuberantly, setting her bare feet down upon the dirt ground firmly as they finished the final movements in her dance. Though she was out of breath from having danced without stopping for the past 25 minutes, she'd never felt better. It was a beautiful spring day in the city of Paris, a day that had been perfect for drawing a substantial crowd to watch her dance. Days that were dreary, wet, or even humid had almost always proved to be injurious to the business she'd had of dancing for money in the squares of towns for the past 5 years. Days like today, that were perfect in both temperature and appearance, were far more beneficial. Little by little the people had come to watch the lovely dancer perform in the town square, entranced by the way her petite form and feet moved lively to the flute and mandolin music of the gypsies that traveled with her.

Though gypsy performers were constantly coming through the city of Paris to dance and tell fortunes for money and thus weren't particularly unique, the people nonetheless took a special interest in Christine. For after all, she herself was not of the gypsy race. No one, not even the gypsies that she traveled with were certain of where Christine came from. It was said that one day 10 years ago they had simply found her one day wandering along the shores of the sea, supposedly "looking for her scarf". Ever since then she'd been brought up by the women in the gypsies' caravan, and had been taught how to dance divinely by the late leader's widow "Madame" (her fortune-telling name) Antriella Giry, and her daughter Megara. It wasn't long before the girl had mastered the skill to perfection, surpassing even Megara's performance. Now she repaid the gypsies' kindness towards her by helping them to earn money by dancing in the towns they visited.

Today in particular a crowd quite larger than usual had gathered to watch Christine dance, and now that she had finished came forward in multitudes to throw copper and silver coins upon the mat she carried around with her. She flashed each and every one of them a grateful luminescent smile, ducking her head bashfully at the praise her male audience members heaped on her as their coins left their pouches. Though her dancing had been divine, a more obvious reason for the bountiful giving of the people was because of her stunning beauty.

Christine might have been just barely 18 years of age, but she had the body and face of a majestic goddess. Her skin, tanned by the days of dancing in the warm sun, was a fair bronze, flawless in complexion. Her hair was long and dark, streaked with golden highlights and came down to her waist. She had eyes whose hues resembled that of jade stones, teeth that sparkled like pearls, and lips that were round and pink like cherry blossoms. Though she considered the young men on the gypsy caravan as no more than brothers, they all had fallen deeply in love with her. Madame Giry had told them quite plainly when they'd asked her for Christine, that the choice of a husband would lie with Christine alone, and until that time came to say no more of it. Christine however, had no desire to marry, nor even have a lover or man she could hold in particular favor. Still innocent and untouched, she was oblivious to the look of desire that were plastered on the faces of the men she danced in front of. Instead of spending her spare time dreaming of a handsome prince that would come and carry her away, Christine would spend it on her knees in prayer to God and her dead father, begging them to send her an "Angel of Music". Though the gypsies didn't know what this Angel of Music was that she asked for, they never questioned her about it, choosing to let the girl have a part of her past that she kept for herself.

Now as the crowd began to disperse, Christine gathered the coins from the mat and walked over to where the beggars of the town sat near alleyways between the buildings and dropped the copper and silver money into their chipped cups and hats with a sympathetic smile and nod as murmurs of "God bless you, child" and "Many thanks, mademoiselle" came from the desolate beggars. When she walked back to where her companions waited for her, one of them, a middle-aged man with long, shiny black hair and a beard exclaimed, "Yet again, Christine? This will be the fifth time you've seen fit to throw away our earnings on homeless vagabonds in this city!"

"I don't think of it as throwing away our earnings Joseph, I like to think of it as helping others less fortunate than we are. Besides, aren't we somewhat homeless beggars ourselves?"

"Homeless we may be, but beggars we are not, my girl." The other man, this one called Aradon, said. "We make a living for ourselves without the help or pity of strangers."

"Well if we don't help the outcasts, then who will? And how can we expect to have the pity of others if we should ever need it in the future if we will not show it to those who need it now?"

As they walked together back towards the forest where the rest of the caravan was stationed, Joseph put a strong arm around her and held her at his side in a fatherly embrace, "Perhaps you should have stayed in Heaven as an angel rather than come down here to mingle with we gypsies, love, then you might have induced God to be merciful to this world's 'outcasts', as you call them!"

Christine laughed, "If I could induce God to be merciful to all the outcasts in this world I would, but I don't think I could ever convince him to let me be an angel!"

"With that smile, sweetheart, you could convince God to do anything." Aradon grinned down at her.

She laughed again and blushed as they approached the campfire several of the other gypsies were gathered around. At their appearance several greetings were shouted, and while Joseph and Aradon sat down at the fire with the others, Christine went on to Antriella's decorated wagon where she told fortunes in by day and lived in with Megara by night. When she entered the wagon, she breathed in the familiar scent of incense and spices that always hung in the air whenever Antriella was near. The various charms that hung from the wagon's ceiling and the potions that sat on its shelves were familiar to Christine as well. As a child she had always asked the kind clairvoyant what each and every one of their purposes were, only to be told that the secrets of astrology were only to be told to those with a gift for it. Though back then Christine had greatly coveted this gift, now that she had grown older she had lost her childish curiosity and turned to God for the answers to her prayers instead of potions, and looked upon Antriella's craft with kind indifference.

The old fortuneteller looked up immediately from where she sat at a small table when she stepped into the wagon. "Ah, Christine! You've been gone all day, child, today must have been quite profitable for you, no?"

Christine shrugged and smiled sheepishly as she sat down at the table with Antriella, "Yes it was, but…you see Madame…I…I actually--"

"You gave away the money again." Antriella stated simply with an amused smile.

"I suppose you didn't even have to read my mind. You're not angry with me, are you?" She asked reluctantly.

"I should say not, though this will have been the fifth time, no?" With a laugh, Antriella leaned back in her chair and said, "My child, I sometimes wonder how you intend to make your own way in this world if you continue in these great acts of benevolence. No man wants a pauper for a bride, no matter how beautiful she may be. You must begin to have more consideration for such things."

I don't see why, Madame. " Christine sighed. "Why should I have to make my own way in the world? Why, when I'm here with all of you?" A sudden look of sadness came over her face as she asked softly, "Is it because you do not wish me to stay?"

"Of course not, Christine, nothing could be farther from the truth! I look upon you as quite my own child along with Megara, and would be content to see you remain here for the rest of your days--were it not for the fact that I know that it is not what you truly desire."

"Oh but I do, Madame, I honestly do!" Christine exclaimed. "You and Meg, and Joseph and Aradon and the others are all I have ever really known. Just the thought of having to leave you makes my heart ache, I can't imagine why you'd think I'd ever want to leave! I have everything I'll ever need right here!"

"Yes, everything…except love."

"But you just said you love me the way you love Megara, and I love you and--"

"No, no, child, that is not the kind of love I am speaking of. I mean the love a woman feels for a man, and the love he feels for her in return. The kind of love that only enters our hearts once, if it ever comes to us all. The kind of love that makes a man and woman one with each other in heart, soul, body, and spirit."

The girl shook her head, "I never understand when I hear people speak of those things. How can a man and a woman be as one with each other in body, or in soul and spirit for that matter? They are not things that we can touch or see, so how can a woman give them to a man when she loves him?"

Antriella smiled at the look of bewilderment on Christine's face, "I'm sure you will find out one day, child." Reaching across the table she took her hand within her own gently, but suddenly started and tightened her grip. Looking down, she opened Christine's palm and gazed into it for a long moment in silence, a solemn look on her face. Finally, the fortuneteller nodded and said so quietly it sounded like she was speaking to herself, "Yes… yes you will most assuredly find out one day, Christine…one day soon…"

The orange flames of the bright fire flickered and cracked softly, giving off a warmth that spread through Christine's entire body. Leaning back from where she sat in front of it, she unfurled her legs to let her toes be warmed several inches away from the fire, sighing in relaxation and closing her eyes as they tingled at the sensation.

It had been several hours since Antriella's unnerving foresight, hours that Christine had for the most part, spent alone in contemplation of what it could mean.

"You will most assuredly find out one day, Christine…one day soon…"

Find out what, how to love a man? Christine knew for certain that she had no desire to do that, much less give herself to one. What was so glorious about it, anyway? She'd heard the whispers of the other gypsy women as they spoke of their rendezvous' with the men, and even some with the men in the towns they traveled through. In every circumstance, the girls had all said that there had been pain and little pleasure in the act. How was that love? If that was what love truly was, then Christine wanted no part in it whatsoever.

"What's wrong this time?"

She turned at the sound of her best friend's voice, "What do you mean Meg?"

Megara Giry came over to where Christine sat before the fire and plopped down beside her saying, "I mean that there's obviously something wrong that's bothering you. I can tell because every time there is, you always purse your lips like this and stare at nothing!" The two burst into laughter as she tried to imitate the expression Christine had been making.

When her giggles had subsided, Christine shook her head and said, "I don't know what's wrong with me now, Meg, it's hard to explain."

"Is it about your father again?"

"No, no nothing like that. I suppose it's-it's just something your mother told me a little while ago."

Megara smiled playfully, "What, did she give you one of the prophecies of doom that she gives all the townspeople who come to visit her?" When Christine didn't answer, her expression turned serious as she asked, "Then what did she tell you, Christine?" After the brief retelling of the encounter had passed from Christine's lips, Megara shook her auburn-haired head and murmured, "So what do you think it means?"

"I don't know…I don't think I want to know either."

"Well, why not? It sounds to me like you're going to fall in love soon, what's so horrible about that? If anything you should be excited, as I would be if mother told me something like that! All she said is in store for my future is a switching if I don't perfect every single step in the new dance I'm learning!" Megara said jokingly. But when she noticed Christine wasn't laughing with her this time, she sighed and said, "Well honestly, Christine, I don't see what's so bad about knowing you're going to fall in love, any other girl here would be ecstatic!"

"I wish it had been any other girl here, Meg, because I just happen to be the one who isn't ecstatic. I've seen what they all call love, and I'd rather die than have it happen to me."

"Well it's easy for you to say, Christine, you're so beautiful, you'll always have the choice of changing your mind. While girls who look like me will have to take whatever we can get or risk being alone for the rest of our lives." She smiled somewhat wistfully.

"Don't say that Meg," Christine said, touching her friend's hand in encouragement, "You know very well that you're--"

"Plain." Megara finished for her with another wistful smile. "Please Christine, we're not children anymore so you really mustn't feel the need to lie to me anymore. I know that I may not be the ugliest thing on this earth, but when compared to you I am anything but the prettiest. My hair is wild and untamed, my nose far too long, my eyes too close together, and my figure is completely without shape or form. And you, well you know you are the exact opposite. It's little wonder that every man in this caravan and town desires you."

"I don't care about that, Meg--"

"Oh yes, I'd forgot, you're saving yourself for some sort of 'Angel of Music', no? Well, I do suppose an angel would make a far better lover than an ordinary man!"

Christine shook her head, "Don't say things like that Meg, it's sacrilegious."

Megara shrugged, "For you perhaps, but I myself believe in no God or Angel for that matter, who refuses to show himself."

"Then there wouldn't be much need for faith in the world, would there? God doesn't show himself because He wants us to trust in his existence regardless of what we see, and the Angel of Music hasn't shown himself to me because I am not worthy."

"Worthy? What do you mean, 'not worthy?'"

"I mean that he only reveals himself to those who are worthy enough to be in his presence."

"I see," Her friend said skeptically. "And just what must one do to warrant such an honor?"

"They must be true connoisseurs of music."

Megara laughed in incredulous amusement, "And you believe you aren't? Christine, that's ridiculous! You have one of the most beautiful voices I've ever heard, it's almost as beautiful as you are, even if you choose to hardly let it be heard! How can you believe that you are not 'worthy' enough for this Angel? "

"Because I would have heard him by now if I was, Meg. All true artists of music do."

"Oh rubbish, who told you that?"

"My father."

Immediately silenced by the solemn look on Christine's face, Megara sighed, "Well, perhaps this Angel does exist…perhaps you just have yet to become…'worthy' enough to hear him. But you will, Christine, I know you will…and if you don't, well, you can always sing for the Ghost--he loves music!"

"The what?" Christine asked in bewilderment.

"The Ghost, the ghost that lives in the cathedral." Megara motioned towards the towers of the church that towered above the forest trees in front of them.

"In Notre Dame?"

"Why yes, I'm surprised you haven't heard of him before. We all know the story, even the priests who live there believe in him. They just never say so to the people because they don't want to be charged with heresy, but they know he exists just the same. He lives in the towers of the cathedral, he has for years now, walking around the halls and atop the roofs shrouded all in black, never coming out except at night. He's the one who rings the bells, he won't even let anyone else near them; some say that when the priests tried to hire an individual bell ringer, they found him hanging from the rafters of one of the towers with a note pinned to him that said a disaster beyond their imagination would occur if they ever attempted such a thing again."

"But why?"

"Because he loves the bells, he loves them and everything else that has to do with music. Joseph told me that a servant told him that a priest told him that he's seen the ghost hiding in the shadows of the chapels when the priests sing at Mass just so he could hear the hymns."

Christine was silent for a moment before she said slowly, "I don't know, Meg. It just sounds like a lot of gossip to me."

"You can call it that, but I'm telling you that Joseph will swear on his soul that the Ghost exists!"

"Well how would Joseph know anyway? He's certainly never stepped foot in a church!"

"He didn't have to, Christine, he's seen him from outside. One night while he was walking by himself in the town square, Joseph looked up at Notre Dame and saw a figure swathed all in black standing in one of the outside crevices of the cathedral. He said that other than his silhouette the only thing he could distinguish about the Ghost was his eyes; they were like two glowing coals staring down at him in the night. I tell you, just the thought of it is enough to make my blood go cold!"

"Well not mine," Christine said indifferently as she stood up to walk away. "You and Joseph and everyone else here can shake in your boots about a silly old ghost story, but I prefer to believe in something actually worth believing in."

"Like God and an Angel of Music I suppose?" Megara asked sarcastically. "Give it up and face it, Christine; you've a better chance of meeting the Ghost than you do this silly old Angel out of a fairytale your father used to tell you."

Christine rolled her eyes and returned her friend's sarcastic remark with one of her own as she left, "Maybe…but perhaps I may get lucky and end up meeting both of them at the same time!"

It had been the very first time music had ever disturbed him

From where he'd been sitting by the window of his cell tower writing, Erik remembered that he had heard the sounds of a merry mandolin and lute from outside in the square and was annoyed. The work he'd been doing had been of the utmost importance--a personal philosophy to the archdeacon on the disallowing of gypsies near the cathedral--when to his dismay, he'd found himself being disturbed by what could have only been the very people he was writing about.

Damned gypsies. Standing to his feet with an impatient sigh, Erik had thrown down his quill pen and went over to the tiny window to gaze down on the square. As he'd surmised, gypsies were performing there again, the circular crowd of people was enough to inform him of that. Like flitting moths to a flame, they always took pleasure in watching gypsies and other street performers in the square. And for what? To see a few measly little magic tricks? To hear annoying little ditties strummed out on guitars? In Erik's opinion if that was the people of Paris' idea of entertainment, it was little wonder that he isolated himself from them. But after several moments, the crowds had parted slightly to reveal what had so entranced them;

A dancing girl.

As he'd looked down on her, Erik surmised that she couldn't be more than 18 years of age, though her flushed cheeks and agility made her look about 16. At first glance, he'd thought she was nothing more than another one of the gypsy tarts who came to entertain crowds in the square regularly, but as he'd continued to watch her performance, Erik found himself feeling something different about this girl. First of all, her dance was not slow and seductive like the other gypsy women who performed. While their's were obviously pre-planned to arouse and seduce the male spectators in order to gain more money, hers was in a style that was light and somewhat playful. Her tiny feet flew up in the air in a merry rhythm, she twirled her body around in an exuberant way, and upon her face was an expression of pure jubilancy. And second, as she went on, Erik had then found himself having to reluctantly acknowledge a truth too evident to ignore; the girl was beautiful…very beautiful. Though she may have had the look of an innocent, the image of beauty that emanated from her face and form was exquisitely mature. The gracefulness of her movements while she danced was mesmerizing…almost---

But no.

He'd stopped himself right there, shaking himself out of the momentary stupor the girl had caused him to go in. Walking away from the window, Erik had chastised himself severely for allowing himself to be easily drawn in by so cheap a snare like any other lecherous man. Had he not known all of his life that the female species had been put upon the earth as a temptation for men to either succumb to or righteously deny? Hadn't he trained himself with the utmost discipline since his coming of age to ensure that the wanton form of the female didn't pass through his through his train of thoughts? Most importantly, hadn't he been born with something that would ensure he'd never have the opportunity to be enticed by a woman?

Something that ensured it even if he wanted to?

The answer to all of these questions was yes, so sitting back down at the small table in the cell, Erik took up his quill pen and resumed writing his dissertation.

But although he pursed his lips in what seemed to be irritation, without consciously realizing it, he had left the window open so as not to muffle the sound of the lovely dancer's music.